


Saving Them

by Akzeal



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gestalt Theory, M/M, Other, Spark Bond, Spark Sex, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akzeal/pseuds/Akzeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an encounter with Bluestreak, Breakdown suggests a crazy plan. Gestalts can't lose a member, can they? And the Stunticons certainly can't be Autobot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saving Them

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is not really... anything like I expected. And yet, it's perfect. There is detailed descriptions of spark-merging, but it's probably the least arousing smut I've ever written. It might be seen as dub-con, though I'm not sure I like calling it that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

It had _not_ been a good day for Bluestreak. And, he thought in despair, it wasn't even properly begun yet. "Ironhide, sir, I know I'm late, I'm sorry, it's just-" His burgeoning explanation got cut off, the red mech knowing better than to let Bluestreak continue.

"Nah time fer 'splaining, Ah got work of mah own ta do." Ironhide smirked suddenly, motioning at the captive who sat in the Autobot's brig. "Ya can 'splain ta 'im. See ya, Blue'." Waving lazily, Ironhide left.

For a moment, there was actual silence in the brig. Bluestreak ended that soon enough. "You're one of those Stunticons, aren't you? Maybe I will do what Ironhide said and tell you why I'm late, after all, it's kind of your fault so I think I will. I'll also tell you why I'm wet, it's kind of the same thing, you know, the Twins did it, I don't know if they thought it would cheer me up or not but they didn't pick a very good time to play their prank, I should be happy it's just water, they've used paint thinner before, or even paint, sometimes they've threatened to repaint Prowl that way, paint thinner and then paint, but they wouldn't try that now and I would have dried off but I was already late because I spilt some energon on me because I was in a hurry because I recharged for too long."

"I don't want to hear your story," the white and blue mech in the cell muttered the moment Bluestreak took a moment to gulp down the energon he had brought with him. Breakdown didn't think that his wishes would mean anything to the Autobot, but he had to at least try. He squirmed a little, trying to find some way of getting Bluestreak to stop looking at him, and so intently...

"I told you," Bluestreak answered, putting his empty cube down and putting another, full, cube just inside the bars to Breakdown's cell. "It's kind of your fault. I said I was recharging late, that was because I stayed up so long. I couldn't get to recharge very well last night, I was so worried. Your stupid friend Motormaster hit Prowl-"

"He's _not_ my friend," Breakdown interrupted, snarling the words out. For a moment he even glared at Bluestreak, but the Autobot's steady gaze drove Breakdown to lower his optics again.

"Well, Prowl is MY friend, and Motormaster is _your_ team leader, and Motormaster almost killed Prowl, we weren't sure he was going to make it!" Bluestreak said, just as angry as the Stunticon.

Settling himself further back in the cell and trying to ignore the energon sitting so temptingly by the bars, Breakdown sneered. "So what? You almost lost your tactician. In case you've forgotten, Autobot, that would be a _good_ thing as far as I'm concerned!" Eh, the energon was probably poisoned anyway... and it wasn't like Breakdown needed it. He'd been given a transfusion at the same time that medic had repaired him, and disabled half his systems, when he was brought in.

"Oh, yes, it would really be a good thing for Prowl to die, you'd just love that, wouldn't you? Then all you Decepticreeps would win and you'd go to Cybertron and kill everyone there. And then you'd be happy, wouldn't you? But you know, I know gestalts, and I know some things you're not telling, and I don't think you'd be anything like as happy as you think you would be, or do you actually not think you'd be happy? I guess it doesn't make any difference..." Bluestreak knew he wasn't being very nice, but with barely two hours of recharge, the long night of worry over Prowl, being late, spilling his energon, being even _more_ late, and running into the Twins' trap, Bluestreak's control was rather strained.

"Oh, stop your _babbling_! What the _pit_ do you care?" Breakdown snarled again, managing to keep his curling in on himself to a minimum. Why would they even offer the energon, he wondered, trying to distract himself. They had to know he wouldn't take it, so why would they even try?

"I don't know," Bluestreak said, looking right at the white mech and coming closer as he spoke. "I guess I don't really care. I mean, really, what does it matter to me that you have nowhere to go? I saw what Motormaster did to Prowl, I've heard Mirage talk about what he does to you, he doesn't know I'm listening, I'm not quiet often but I can be for a while, and of course, you can't even hope to stay here, can you, no, I know gestalts, I told you that, so no matter where you go or what happens, you're stuck, but hey, like you said, I'm a 'bot, you're a 'con, so who care-"

"Bluestreak!" Ratchet's horrified voice cut through the gray mech's babbling, and Bluestreak jumped, giving Ratchet a guilty look.

"I- I'm sorry, I just, I didn't recharge well-"

"I don't care! I came in here to check our captive, and I find you tormenting him! Go to med-bay and tell First Aid to give you something to scrub, right now. I'll find someone else to watch Breakdown," Ratchet said, pointing at the door. Bluestreak gave one last look at Breakdown, who was now sitting with his arms around his knees, and hurried out of the brig.

Dropping the bars just long enough to step into the cell, Ratchet huffed a little. "He shouldn't have said that. I'm sure something will-"

"He was right," Breakdown snapped, not bothering to evade Ratchet. It wouldn't get him anywhere. "Do your check and get out." As depressing as it was, Bluestreak at least had understood his position. ... mostly... Breakdown's thoughts got broken by Ratchet shoving the cube of energon into his face.

"I'm not leaving until you fuel. Your system logs showed that you've been on starvation rations almost since being sparked. I'm not letting you suffer on _my_ watch and it will help stabilize your processor anyway. So drink," Ratchet answered firmly.

Glaring at the medic, Breakdown ignored the cube. "My processor is _fine_ ," he snapped. Fine, if crippling paranoia was 'fine'... After a moment, he huffed and grabbed the cube, feeling more like Dead End. It just wasn't worth the fight. Even if he did offline... so what?

Ratchet watched until the white and blue mech had swallowed every drop of energon in the cube. Satisfied that Breakdown was adequately fueled, he took the empty cube and did a quick, cursory scan before leaving the cell. He then waited outside the cell until a red and blue minibot came in, handing the job of guarding Breakdown to the minibot. The Decepticon Lamborghini held back a groan.

By the time the minibot left, Breakdown was ready to take his head off. The mech never stopped _looking_ at him. And he complained... all the time, and about such stupid little things. He wasn't fully repaired, he'd only had _one_ cube of energon today, the water in the washracks wasn't as hot as he liked it and the cold made his joints freeze. What was even worse than the casual disregard of luxury, Breakdown felt, was the minibot's opinion on his leaders. Optimus was too harsh, didn't listen to other mechs enough, the medics never cared about WHY a mech was injured. Breakdown couldn't really resist the depression that began weighing on him, and he figured it was better than his own urge to throttle the minibot.

Breakdown spent the night thinking and trying not to drown in combined depression and paranoia, reaching over the gestalt bond in a rare attempt to gain comfort from his gestalt mates. They didn't have much for him. Wildrider was peeved that Breakdown was interrupting his 'game', Drag Strip pointed out he was in great shape, and Dead End was too busy with Motormaster to do more than whimper at Breakdown. The Lamborghini closed the link off quickly. He got enough of that first hand, there was no need to experience it second hand as well.

Bluestreak wasn't back to guarding for another two days. Breakdown had actually been on the verge of asking about him.

"Listen, about before, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have said all that stuff and Prowl's okay, really, and I know that it was nasty of me to say those things and-"

"Shut up," Breakdown growled. Why did all the Autobots _talk_ so much? "Everything you said was right and you know it."

For once, Bluestreak actually did fall silent, looking at Breakdown in astonishment. Breakdown took advantage of this by continuing to talk. "I can't stay here. I'm already needing my brothers, in a way _you_ can't even hope to understand. When I go back, I'll be beaten and starved by my own commanders. I could have it worse. No one's gonna rape me. _No_ one is foolish enough to take what belongs to Motormaster. But... you were wrong about just. one. thing." Breakdown waited, watching Bluestreak. It took longer than he had anticipated for the Autobot to react.

"What? What was I wrong about, because I can't think about anything I was wrong about, the Aerialbots have been very helpful telling me what it's all like, having so many minds connected, never being alone, but never being able to leave..." There was a wistfulness to Bluestreak's tone as he spoke about combined nature of gestalts.

"Aerials," Breakdown snorted in dismissal. "They wouldn't know about this. They never talked with the Combaticons, let alone Reflector. But why should I tell you, Autobot? It's not like you'd help us anyway." Breakdown's paranoia had made him cunning and good at reading others, though he usually assigned them far darker motives than the ones that actually moved them. Drag Strip was the psychologist of the Stunticons, reading other's motivations and manipulating them to victory. Breakdown ruthlessly pressed his yellow brother for accurate information regarding Bluestreak, spark pulsing erratically from both need and apprehension.

"Help you, no, you're right about that, even though I should, you're Decepticons, you know what you've don- But Ratchet says you're young and maybe don't know any better and even if you did you're stuck with Motormaster-"

"Exactly!" Breakdown cut in. "We don't have a choice, Motormaster decides everything for us!" They hated him for it, but what could they do?

Bluestreak squirmed, door-wings twitching erratically. His Autobot training to help others warred with his utter loathing of Decepticons. "Well... I... might not help you myself but... I could tell Optimus if there was a way to help you..." Skyfire had been a Decepticon, after all, and he was one of the nicest mechs Bluestreak knew. And the Stunticons were even younger than _he_ was... " _Is_ there?"

Breakdown hesitated for a click, and then nodded, slowly, reluctantly. "Yes... The Combaticons used it once, though it wasn't very safe. A gestalt... it's like a web, you know? This line connects to that line connects to that person connects to this line. You take one person out, and the whole structure just... collapses. But not instantly. There's, oh, a joor, maybe two, before the final, fatal, collapse."

"But if there's a joor or two then there's something that can be done, something that could be done to plug the hole, you said the Combaticons did it, they're the ones who make Bruticus, right, so what did they do?" Bluestreak had come nearly to the bars as Breakdown explained, optics glowing with interest.

"You have it exactly," Breakdown answered, voice barely loud enough to carry to Bluestreak. "You find someone to plug the hole. You replace the dead member with someone else. Of course, it has to be someone who understands gestalts, someone who knows and wants what a gestalt offers." Red optics caught the light as Breakdown looked directly at Bluestreak, not flinching even when their gazes met.

Bluestreak did flinch, stepping back. "I- I said I'd tell Optimus, he knows everyone better than I do, I just talk a lot, he actually listens..."

"Of course," Breakdown answered, sounding bitter but waving Bluestreak away as though there was no issue. "Ask him, by all means. Of course, the surviving gestalt members have to approve of the replacement. But if you think Optimus will find someone better, well... we might consider him, anyway." Breakdown was quite sure no-one else would be anything like compatible. He wasn't even sure Bluestreak would be, but he found the idea of returning to the starvation, beatings, cold and damp, intolerable.

"I- I'll tell him... what happens if... um, what happens if you don't like whomever Optimus finds-" Bluestreak was cut off before he could really hit his stride in babbling.

"There has to be some compatibility. If all of us don't agree on anyone else, I suppose I'll have to go back. Of course, Motormaster will learn what we're planning the first moment we gestalt fully. I can't imagine he'll be pleased." It was a struggle for Breakdown to maintain his mostly calm demeanor, and he knew Bluestreak could hear the fear in his voice, if the Autobot thought to listen.

"Oh." That was all Bluestreak said for a moment. A click later he was calling someone else and begging them to take his shift because he had something to tell Optimus. Breakdown was a little surprised when Prowl walked in and let Bluestreak leave.

Prowl was at least silent, and polite enough not to stare at Breakdown, though the Lamborghini could feel Prowl's gaze on him. There was time to confer with his brothers, even. Motormaster seemed to be recharging; he at least wasn't listening in on the carformers. It was not surprising to find that they were all cautiously hopeful, or in Dead End's case, at least willing to go along with what the others decided. It was only a few hours later than Prowl opened the cell and cuffed Breakdown, something the Stunticon submitted to with as much grace as he could muster. Dead End's fatalism helped.

It was not really a surprise to find that Prowl was taking him to Optimus Prime. The Stunticon could not really resist the shiver that traced down his backstrut from being in the Prime's presence. The color was wrong, that was all...

"Bluestreak tells me you've suggested a way we could help you leave the Decepticons," Optimus said, voice rumbling lowly.

Breakdown twitched, looking around the room a little. Bluestreak was there, and Prowl of course. One of their spies, Smokescreen? and their flighty little security director. Starscream had all sorts of stories about _him_. Breakdown returned his gaze to Bluestreak, smiling a little and nodding. "I have. I doubt you will when you find what's involved." Goad them, Drag Strip had said. Put them on the defensive, make them promise anything to prove you wrong. They were so honorable, they would keep their promises.

"Why don't you tell us what's involved, Breakdown?" Optimus invited, steel behind his velvet tone. Breakdown grimaced a little.

"I take it I am supposed to pretend you haven't heard this from the derma of your insulting little guard there," Breakdown answered, looking away from Bluestreak just long enough to see the tightening in Optimus' jaw. No insulting Bluestreak, then... "I'll humor you. It's very simple. With Motormaster dead, our bonds will destabilize. We will need to bond another mech to keep the destabilization from becoming fatal."

"What changes would you experience?" Prowl asked, voice as unemotional as ever.

Barely keeping from rolling his optics, Breakdown turned to face Prowl. "Well, we wouldn't be able to combine to form Menasor, not without chassis mods for alla us. Wouldn't have Motormaster's sadism clouding our processors." He sneered at Prowl as he said that, remembering Bluestreak's ramble about Prowl's health. Prowl, predictably, didn't respond.

"What do you mean when you say bond?" Red Alert was the one to ask this time, gaze not quite settled on the white and blue Lamborghini. Breakdown grinned, staring right at the other Lamborghini.

"I mean bond. What other meaning is there? Spark to spark, lifetime companionship." The white and red Lamborghini flinched, and Breakdown glanced at Bluestreak again. "Of course, like any bonding, the bonds would have to be strengthened regularly." He was feeling the strain of that, but he was used to it. Motormaster didn't let any of them interface unless he was there to control it. It sated the needs of the bond, but that was about all that could be said of it.

"What would you expect?" Optimus said, cutting through the rising embarrassment in the room. "We cannot allow you to terrorize humans or engage in any other-"

"Oh, _stuff_ it," Breakdown interrupted, patience abruptly snapping. "You do not understand the first thing of our life! Give us a place to stay, medical care, fuel, warm wash-racks and clean air, a leader, yes, he _will_ be our leader, and we will fight for you, we will obey your slagging rules. You know who we're interested in, I'm sure. Who else is volunteering?"

Optimus gave Breakdown a disapproving look, which Breakdown ignored. Very patiently, the red and blue semi answered the Stunticon's question. "Prowl, Smokescreen, and Red Alert have... Suggested they may be more fitting-" He stopped as Breakdown stood.

"Red Alert?" Breakdown asked, not even trying to keep the disdain from his voice as he looked back at the other Lamborghini. "You are not thinking at all. He is more paranoid than I am, and you want us to _gestalt_? He'd surprise us by even being capable of letting us bond him! No, he will not do." Nodding with more respect than his words showed, Breakdown went to the brightly-colored Smokescreen.

"You... what do you know about gestalts, I wonder? You're that one wandering around, lying and deceiving, aren't you? And a spy, you'd probably report everything back to Optimus... Could you even be truthful to us? No, too many lies, too little trust, respect. No." Shaking his head in shock that Optimus would even offer that mech, Breakdown moved on. Hopefully enough of what he had said about Smokescreen had been correct...

"Prowl..." He would have touched Prowl, if he were able, just to see the other flinch. "We know about your glitch. You would never survive Wildrider. And.... you are too impersonal. You would perhaps bring stability, but you would never more than tolerate us. No." Prowl nodded at the explanation.

"Optimus will not force anyone to do this," Prowl said.

Breakdown was already walking towards Bluestreak, who was visibly nervous. "Of course not. Force would be meaningless, it has to be voluntary. He will be sharing everything, he will have our presence in the back of his processor forever, just as we will have his. Force would just lead to another situation we would want to escape." He didn't look away from Bluestreak, silently pleading with the Autobot.

"I... I'll think about it, that's all I can, I just..."

"Think about it. But keep in mind how long I've been away from my mates," Breakdown answered, voice low as he tried to make it as non carrying as possible. Stepping away from the grey mech, he looked at Prowl. "Back to the brig, I suppose."

Bluestreak watched the Stunticon follow Prowl out of the room, and then looked around. Optimus was getting ready to say something... "I have to go, I need to think a little, it's really my choice and I'm not afraid or anything I just need to think so yeah." He left before Optimus could say anything. He really wasn't afraid of Breakdown, Bluestreak realized. The Stunticon had gone out of his way to impress that it was a choice...

"It's not like he's even threatened to hurt me if I don't do this," Bluestreak muttered as he drew closer to the store-room he was going for. "Though of course Motormaster would be angry with me. Or would he be angry at them? But they're _Decpeticons_... But... they'd... be changing? And I wonder what he meant, about a berth and warm water and... But I'd have to keep them all in control, I don't know how to do that, but maybe they'd be grateful, ha, Decepticons grateful, but..." Inside the room, Bluestreak slumped a little, doorwings drooping.

"I wouldn't be alone. And if Motormaster is half as bad as I've heard, they really don't have a choice... aren't they as young as the Aerialbots, and been starved and... But I heard him, it's forever, and if they decide they don't like me, or if I don't like them, it can't be broken... or can it, I've heard rumors about being able to break bonds, but it would probably mean I'd need to find a new gestalt myself to survive, I wonder if Fireflight was serious when he said they thought I was cute, but I guess it doesn't matter, because I guess they want me and- Primus." What he had said caught up to Bluestreak's processor. He had just seen Breakdown flat off reject three of the smartest and best-looking of the Autobots... for him? In uncharacteristic silence, Bluestreak marched down to the brig. Prowl unobtrusively left when the gray mech walked in, leaving Bluestreak alone with Breakdown.

"Back so soon?" Breakdown asked, pacing in his cell. It had been three days since he had seen his brothers, and even longer since he had been able to reaffirm their bonds. One way or another, he needed this to end.

"Even if Optimus did find someone else suitable to lead you, you wouldn't take him, would you?" Bluestreak asked, making it as short and to the point as he could.

"There is no-one else suitable," Breakdown answered, barely keeping himself from snarling. "Because we don't _want_ anyone but you."

"Why me? I shoot at you in battle and then I come here and I insult you and you know I hate Decepticons so why me?"

"You understand us well enough _to_ insult me. You're direct and honest. ... You're cute." Breakdown was slow to add that last part, but Wildrider insisted that it _should_ be said. His optics were drawn to Bluestreak's wings, which were trembling violently. "...Drag Strip likes to race. He's the yellow one. He likes to win. He plays dirty, but if we're supposed to behave... he'll still need watching at first. Wildrider, he's the black one? He needs attention. Sometimes he's almost sweet. He's the one who made me say you're cute. Dead End isn't very enthusiastic, but that's just because he's sure he'll die at any given moment. He's red, and gorgeous. You already know I'm paranoid..."

Bluestreak thought he might have been able to say no if Breakdown hadn't done that. He had seen the Stunticons, of course. But hearing their names, personalities... hearing Breakdown's affection for them, hidden as it was... "I'll... do it. I- I'll take Motormaster's place. How..."

"The three of them will be able to overpower him. He won't expect an attack from us, especially not a lethal one. They're already close, all of them miss me, even if they won't admit it. Tell your Prime we'll need... med-bay, most likely. I hope none of your medics mind watching... there are likely to be injuries, and we won't have time to wait on the bonding."

"O- okay. Are you sure you won't need any help or anything, I mean, we've got-"

"No," Breakdown answered, shaking his head. "It would just alert Motormaster. We'll only need the help afterwards... Now go tell Prime. _Please_."

Bluestreak gave a shaky nod, hurrying out. Prowl, apparently just outside, came in as the grey mech left. "If you hurt him, I will find a way to make you suffer," the black and white mech said conversationally.

"Keep us locked up out of sight of each other and only let us merge once a week. Is it so hard for you to imagine we might mean this?" Breakdown answered.

Prowl didn't answer. An hour later, apparently after hearing something over his comm, he opened the cell to cuff Breakdown again, who was barely able to make himself stand still long enough for the cuffs to be put on. "You should tell your brothers to proceed. Optimus is not very happy, though. Would it be better if you were waiting in the med-bay, or at the doors?"

"Doors. Is there any chance Bluestreak could wait with me?" Breakdown said, following Prowl as he was led, once again, through the halls.

"Yes. Ratchet and Perceptor are the medics on duty. I will remain as a guard."

"They're about two hours out, at top speed. Four hours if you assume injuries," Breakdown said this as Bluestreak came up. "I have told them everything is ready. I am... sorry, this bonding will not be as gentle as I am sure you dreamed." The last was said directly to Bluestreak, uncomfortably.

"I... never really thought about it at all, and I understand the need to hurry and... I'd rather not talk about it at all, though I'm not sure what else to talk about..." Breakdown smiled faintly as Bluestreak began to ramble, and neither Prowl nor himself tried to stop the grey mech. Breakdown couldn't stop the flinch that came ten minutes later, though.

"Are you well?" Prowl asked, stepping forward, only to have Breakdown wave him off.

"Tell Ratchet and Perceptor that Wildrider is going to need emergency care. If he offlines, we might just need you after all, Prowl," Breakdown explained, smirking ironically and trying to hide his worry.

"You should have let us help, you and I could have gone out there and helped and then we wouldn't have to worry about the time limit for bonding and we would have been able to get here faster as well I bet and we should have helped..."

"Hush, kid. Bluestreak. We couldn't- ah!" Breakdown dropped to a knee, hunching in on himself. "Come on, 'End, do it... you've got him, you've _got_ him, just _do_ it... ah!" He shrieked, pain obvious as he fell over, vents working hard. Bluestreak reacted to the sight of a mech in pain by hurrying to his side, kneeling, hands hovering just short of touching the white and blue armor.

"Breakdown? Breakdown, what's going on! Tell me!" Bluestreak found he was panicking, wings trembling again. The Lamborghini had gone still, only the whir of vents indicating that he was still online for a long moment. Finally, he sat up, weakly.

"He's dead." Breakdown gave a dreamy smile, looking at Bluestreak with very hazy optics. "Motormaster's offline. We're free... Get your afts over here! Come on, Drag'... it's a race, you can do it. Wild, _move_ , you want to see his cute aft, don't you? Why the slag is 'End the only one mov- there we go. That's right... They're coming now. Three hours. Can you have energon for them, Prowl? Drag' will at least have time to drink while I'm with Bluestreak."

"It will be waiting."

"Prowl... I really, really don't think we should leave him cuffed, I mean, really, and it's not going to help anything later anyway and, um, I just really don't think..." Bluestreak trailed away for a little while when Prowl came closer, nodding in agreement before removing the cuffs. Breakdown rubbed at his wrists but didn't do anything else. He was pleased when Bluestreak started to babble again. The grey mech's voice was distracting, and Breakdown needed the distraction.

"They're here," he said, almost half a joor later, looking toward the horizon. Bluestreak and Prowl looked up too, just as the other three Stunticons came into view. Bluestreak shivered, and then followed Breakdown to them, finding a red and black Dead End more or less shoved into his arms by a worried Drag Strip. Dead End was limping heavily, and it was a surprise that Wildrider was still moving, even with Drag Strip and now Breakdown helping him. Prowl lead them to med bay while Bluestreak tried not to think about anything more than helping fellow mechs get to help.

"Get him to a berth! Perceptor will stop his leaking and then help me with..." Ratchet wasn't sure which Stunticon was which, but it was clear enough what he meant. Bluestreak helped Dead End sit down, and then found himself facing Breakdown, who had two cubes of energon. Dead End took one, not seeming to notice as the red Autobot began to clamp the tubing in his leg.

"Drink. You'll need the energy. You need to do us all, and then all at once. I'll drink while you're with my brothers." Breakdown was as quiet and gentle as he knew how to be, guiding Bluestreak to a third berth, a little more away from everyone.

"Just... open and...?" Bluestreak couldn't make himself finish. He was no innocent, but this was something entirely different. He drank the energon without tasting it, watching Breakdown fearfully.

Breakdown nodded, reaching out to rub Bluestreak's shoulder and pleased when the grey mech barely flinched. "I don't think we have the time or energy to do much else." Biting his glossa and looking away from Bluestreak to Dead End and Drag Strip, Breakdown took the first step, unlatching his chest plates and baring himself with a shiver. The medics weren't watching, he noticed. That helped.

"I, you're, probably right, even if it doesn't seem right but yeah..." He couldn't do anything less than bare himself, especially when Bluestreak knew how much Breakdown hated to be watched, and he babbled as he did so, a quiet murmur of words. Breakdown ignored them, moving to merge their sparks and offering his self to Bluestreak, likewise ignoring the frisson of fear and pleasure the contact brought.

Bluestreak moved into the presence Breakdown offered, slow to realize exactly what he was touching. Every memory was here, every hurt, every hope, every crushed dream and painful cruelty. Breakdown was not a particularly nice mech, prone to violence against those who would _not_ leave him alone, and Motormaster had used that, goading him, looking at him, showing him off, and reinforcing the belief that everyone was out to get the Lamborghini, most especially Motormaster himself.

For being so short, Breakdown's life was horrifically brutal, and Bluestreak was keening as he came to the end of it. Offering himself in return was instinctual, he wanted to soothe the pain. His own life had not been pleasant, almost entirely lived during the war, but he did have friends, he had rarely gone hungry or unrepaired...

Breakdown accepted it desperately, and the bond locked into place as they overloaded, much to Bluestreak's surprise. Looking up, he found Drag Strip waiting, handing a cube to Breakdown, who seemed half in a trance.

"Please. He's happy. Please..." Drag Strip was already opening, looking at Bluestreak. The grey mech nodded, reaching up and pulling the yellow car down. They were here for him. And if they were all as hurt as Breakdown...

The hurts were different, Drag Strip only given cold praise, only when he won perfectly. He was praised more when he hurt others in his winning, and ridiculed mercilessly when he failed in the slightest manner. Bluestreak embraced him, stroking and babbling about how strong he was, how strong they all were, and everything would be right, giving himself over to the Stunticon to prove it and moaning as overload finalized the bond once again.

Bluestreak was almost eager when Drag Strip helped him over to Dead End. Perceptor had finished, enough to help with Wildrider, though they would all need more extensive repairs later. "I don't know why you're bothering," Dead End asked harshly, shaking as he opened.

He didn't know either, or didn't want to say. Bluestreak simply bent, half laying on Dead End and half holding him as they merged. The pain of being dismissed, belittled, told that he should just die, that he wouldn't die no matter what happened until Motormaster allowed it... Bluestreak moaned, found himself kissing Dead End mindlessly, light touches of derma to armor. His brothers wanted him. Bluestreak wanted to know him, wanted to want him. Death would come, but it was best to live in the meantime. They overloaded with a strangled scream, and Bluestreak moaned under the weight of a third bond, dizzy and tired.

Once again he was helped, Drag Strip and Breakdown both moving him over to Wildrider. He was barely awake, optics watching Bluestreak as everyone tried to ignore Ratchet and Perceptor working frantically on saving the Ferrari's life. It was fairly insane to bond a mech who was still caught between living or dying... Insane, Bluestreak found as sparks mingled, was a good word to describe anything involving Wildrider. Things made very little sense to him, colors, words, objects, scents, everything seemed to change from one moment to the next. Only his brothers were ever the same, and when they surrounded him, things were stable. Motormaster loved to send him away, on missions, on duty, on punishment... Bluestreak whimpered, and Wildrider shrieked as overload countered the pain for a moment.

One more... Just one more. Ratchet and Perceptor let themselves be moved away, grumbling, as the four mechs surrounded Wildrider. The merging this time was different. Five sparks, yes, but that wasn't what did it... Menasor was not brutalized, was not injured or terrorized. He simply did not understand the world, finding it a profusion of explosions, fighting, pains and pleasures, fear in his own processor. He accepted Bluestreak easily, curiously, placing the new mech into the hole Motormaster had left. For a glorious moment, they were one, a single mech in five bodies, and then they were themselves again, and slowly the gestalt fell into recharge. Prowl helped Ratchet and Perceptor move the mechs, and then they continued with repairs.


	2. Healing Them

Bluestreak woke on a berth, groaning. His head hurt, and his spark...

"How do you feel, Blue'?" Ratchet asked, coming over at the groan. "You're the first to wake."

"I'm sore..." Even recharging, he could feel them. Light presences against his, suggestions of personalities not his own. Bluestreak found it surprisingly comforting.

"The ache should diminish in time. You were all under a lot of strain, and your systems need time to readjust. None of them were fueled properly or-"

"Ratchet, I know." Bluestreak did know... he had bonded them. "I know they'll recover, though, and you'll take good care of them- of, of us- Oh. B- Breakdown is waking."

"So soon? I thought he'd take at least another thirty minutes. I want to keep all of you until I'm certain you're recovered. Prowl and Red Alert are deciding on rooms for you." Ratchet was already doing a few basic scans. Bluestreak was just fine, physically.

"Together. Like the Aerials... How do you feel, Breakdown?" Bluestreak had felt the Lamborghini's awareness, could feel the undercurrent of fear, ruthlessly suppressed. "And, Ratchet? Could you give Wildrider more painkillers, unless you want him to wake up now?"

Bluestreak's presence was... calm. Breakdown didn't think the grey mech knew what he had gotten into. "I'm... well enough." It was pointless to try and lie. "You- That is, Drag Strip salvaged Motormaster's force field generator. Do you want it?"

As negligent as the offer was, Bluestreak could feel Breakdown's panic. He was terrified the their new leader would take offense at the offer... "Yes. Please? Um, once he's awake, there's no hurry-" Bluestreak cut himself off abruptly. He didn't... need to talk to make himself heard... Breakdown was amused at his realization.

"I'll need to compare systems to make sure I install it correctly. You remember where the energon dispenser is, you can get more. I want you fully fueled as you recover," Ratchet said, taking Bluestreak's advise and giving Wildrider another dose of painkillers, checking the Ferrari's repairs. He was doing surprisingly well.

"Of course." Breakdown went and drew two cubes of energon, handing one to Bluestreak. Bluestreak was grateful, attempting to show his feelings via their bond instead of speaking. Breakdown wasn't sure why Bluestreak was doing that, but it was nice to receive gratitude. Halfway through the cubes, Drag Strip woke up.

"Ugh... who hit- oh, right." Drag Strip managed to sit up, to Bluestreak's surprise, looking around the room. Bluestreak was surprised once again when words came across the bond, and then he realized how Breakdown had been talking to his brothers. ~So, I guess we won that race. Ah... hello.~

~H- hello,~ Bluestreak answered tentatively. Gnawing on his lower derma for a moment, the grey mech stood and got a cube of energon for Drag Strip, ignoring the apprehensive shock from his... teammates? Bondeds? ...Brothers?

"I suppose Dead End will be up soon as well?" Ratchet asked, coming over to check Drag Strip. "Please try to keep him still until I've checked him. Also, I did disable your weapons. Drag Strip, I want to take a look at the force-field generator you salvaged."

"Right-oh," the yellow mech answered, balancing the energon cube and digging through his subspace. After a moment, he brought out an object a little bigger than his hand, handing it to Ratchet. Only then did Drag Strip eagerly drink the energon. Bluestreak could feel how pleased he was to get it, and abruptly remembered how starved for praise Drag Strip was, and how frightened Breakdown had been when mentioning it.

~Thank you. For, remembering to grab the generator,~ Bluestreak sent, silently. He had the feeling that it was better to say these sorts of things in private... at least some of the time. Bluestreak found himself looking into a pair of dazzlingly grateful red optics. "Are you going to keep the red optics, because that's mostly Decepticons that have red you're... um, you're not anymore so were you going to keep them or change them?"

"Probably change. 'End'll complain they don't match his paint." Breakdown had felt Bluestreak's... alarm at looking into red optics. It was second nature to placate their leader, and they had no particular desire to retain too many Decepticon traits.

~Y- you'll probably need it...~ Drag Strip was unsure how to respond, and seized the topic of conversation eagerly. "Yes! Blue optics, and I'm sure a color can be found that 'End would like."

"Why am I supposed to like anything?" Dead End asked, optics still offline, not moving. ~I heard he wanted to check me. There's not much point to it, but I'll allow it. ...Greetings, Bluestreak.~

"Because I think you'd look- all of you, pretty good with blue optics, and I'm not, you know, used to red, and, um, it kind of scares me, but if you want to keep the red it's not a big deal, really, but Drag Strip is right, we do have lots of blues for you to look at..." Bluestreak smiled a little.

"They can look while I check this over. First Aid can change the lenses, it's not that hard," Ratchet commented, barely looking up from the generator Drag Strip had handed him. "Then First Aid and I can install this, assuming it passes my inspection." There was a lightness to his tone that suggested he was teasing. Ratchet certainly knew enough about gestalts, and he had seen what this one had gone through, to know that they were unlikely to put a member in danger unless they absolutely had to.

"I suppose I might as well." Dead End sat up, looking at Bluestreak and nodding a little as he took the energon the other had brought. Bluestreak could feel that Dead End was as surprised as Drag Strip had been.

"Here you go, then. You can all look. First Aid will be in soon. I'll be busy, so leave me alone unless Wildrider wakes." Nodding, Ratchet went into his office after bringing out a tray of optics.

"Okay, that's just a little freaky. Hum... I'll go with pale. These." Drag Strip chose quickly, and then moved out of the way. Bluestreak could feel a curiosity coming from him, but didn't feel comfortable pushing Drag Strip to talk.

"That kind of reminds me, was there anything you left behind, like mementos or anything, I mean, I'm sure I could ask Mirage if he would be able to pick anything up that you left the next time he's on a mission-"

"Only 'End's wax and paints, and I'm sure we can get replacements for those," Breakdown answered, picking a shade of blue that he thought would match his paint.

"Of course, that stuff is all pretty easy for us to get." Bluestreak smiled, watching Dead End pick through the optics listlessly. He was struck once again by the realization that this was his team now. He had taken responsibility for them...

"Hello. Ratchet tells me I'm supposed to change out your optics? Who's first?" Walking in, First Aid managed to smile.

"I'll go first," Drag Strip said, choosing a berth and laying down. "Breakdown, want to watch?" ~You'll know exactly what to expect.~

"I'd like to watch to," Bluestreak added, moving a little closer. ~He'll... stop if I ask him to.~ The explanation was clumsy, and Bluestreak knew First Aid wouldn't attempt anything, but he could feel Breakdown relax just a little as he approached to watch the change.

"Well, this is more of a show than I'm used to." First Aid smiled again, digits moving surely as he numbed Drag Strip's face and removed his optics. "Are you... um, are you feeling okay, Blue'? You're... being quiet," he asked, attaching the new optics. "There, everything working?"

Waiting until Drag Strip had answered in the affirmative and First Aid had unnumbed him, Bluestreak answered, "I'm fine. I just, you know, I have a lot to think about, and just..."

"He doesn't need to annoy you by runnin' his voc," Breakdown said bluntly. "He can listen to us, and babble to us, without botherin' any of you." He exchanged places with Drag Strip, letting First Aid numb him. Bluestreak wasn't surprised when Breakdown emotionally pressed closer to Drag Strip, almost begging for reassurance.

"These." Standing, with chosen optics in hand, Dead End made his way over to the knot of mechs. He joined the emotional knot as well, the despair actually draining away Breakdown's paranoia. If it was all going to end, why worry? Bluestreak joined shyly, hating the surprise they felt. It wasn't exactly reassurance, but Breakdown was able to endure until the operation was finished, vacating the berth the moment he was allowed.

Dead End had chosen very dark optics, apparently to match the black he had. He didn't say anything as First Aid installed them, and Bluestreak, following Drag Strip's lead, was very careful to pay attention to the red and black mech and let Breakdown go unseen for a while.

"Those look nice, Dead End. You all do..." Bluestreak smiled at them, and found himself wishing that he wasn't so easily swayed by simple things like visuals... Optic color should not have made him so uncomfortable in the first place!

~But they did. And now you're mostly comfortable again. And the others will be comfortable as well. This is not a big thing.~ Bluestreak wasn't actually sure who said that, though he guessed Breakdown. It... didn't really matter, he discovered. None of the Stunticons were unhappy about the change. That was what mattered...

"Alright, I think I've figured this thing out. If one of you would be willing to let me compare systems, I would be happier, but even without that, I think we're ready to put this in, if you're comfortable with that, Blue." Ratchet came out of his office with the force-field generator, looking from mech to mech expectantly. No one bothered to answer, Dead End simply opening himself up without a care. His most prominent thought, as far as Bluestreak could tell, was that he hoped his offlining was fast. In all honesty, the sheer depth of Dead End's apathy was beginning to frighten him.

~It's better when Wild's online.~ Nodding a little at Drag Strip's explanation, Bluestreak got onto the berth next to Dead End. Cobalt optics were directed towards him for a moment, and then Ratchet offlined Bluestreak for the installation.

He onlined to find a red and black face about a hands-breath away. "He's awake!" the face said, and Bluestreak realized this was Wildrider, who had apparently changed optic color while Bluestreak was offline.

"Yes, I am... is this a surprise or something?" Bluestreak didn't feel any different...

"Hehehe... No no! No surprise. But it is news, it really is!" Bluestreak could feel Wildrider's overwhelming cheerfulness, with only a slight undercurrent of his earlier all-encompassing confusion.

"You'll should have the option to turn the force-field on, Blue'." Ratchet spoke up, ensuring he was heard. "I recommend you don't leave it up that much, because it does use quite a lot of energy. I'm not sure where they found... anyway. I'll let you explore it."

"A room has been found," Prowl added. Bluestreak hadn't realized Prowl was in the med bay. Looking around as Wildrider helped him sit up, the grey mech saw both Prowl and Red Alert, in addition to the Stunticons and the two medics. "Also, Bluestreak, you have no duties for the next month."

"I want Wildrider back here in two days to see how his repairs are taking. Don't do anything strenuous," Ratchet added. Bluestreak stood, nodding and then following Prowl and Red Alert to the quarters that had been chosen for them all. The rooms were pretty much the same as the Aerialbot's and the Protectobot's suits, five personal berth rooms around one common room which connected to the rest of the Ark. It would work very well, and Bluestreak's stuff had already been moved to one of the private rooms.

Three days went by, with Bluestreak slowly adapting to spending time with the, now former, Decepticons. It was not as distasteful as he had feared. They listened to him when he talked about the war, or about Cybertron, which they had barely seen. They didn't seem curious as to why anyone was fighting, a fact that kind of disturbed Bluestreak, but then, it did help to assure him that they really would stay just by being treated nicely.

The third day ended with an odd soreness in his chest. Waking on the fourth day was painful, and Bluestreak stumbled out of his room bitting back whimpers. He looked at Breakdown in confusion, but it was Drag Strip who came and helped him to the couch.

"We didn't expect it to hit you so soon." Drag Strip spoke quietly, staying close to Bluestreak. The contact felt good to the grey mech, welcome. It made the pain ease. He yelped in surprise when Wildrider draped against his other side, but relaxed a moment later.

"Your spark misses us. It doesn't have to be done all at once, not usually, though you might prefer it, but one or two of us in your berth at night would be enough, and time between can go longer after everything settles." Wildrider was still cheerful, but there was nervousness as well, and... lust. Enough lust came over the bond from the dark mech that Bluestreak moaned quietly. But... the idea of doing what Wildrider suggested...

"Make it stop hurting. Just... I can't-!" Bluestreak knew that 'his' team had been interfacing at night. He didn't mind it, not even getting the emotions as they did so. He had never thought about joining them.

"Shh... It's okay. We'll make it stop." It could always be worse, Breakdown knew that. Bluestreak hadn't done much in the way of actively leading, had done almost nothing to enforce rules or set himself above them. It was a nice reprieve, though his paranoia was getting worse, waiting for the facade to fall apart. As he thought, he opened Bluestreak up, pressing their sparks together while ignoring Wildrider's desire for 'more' to be done. This was still so much better than it had been.

Mewling, Bluestreak let it happen. After he and Breakdown overloaded, the others came, soft hands touching him and moving him, but keeping things fairly impersonal. He could feel their desire for more, for erotic caresses and lustful words, but he couldn't. He couldn't do that, not now, and they didn't push, ridiculously grateful just because he didn't _hurt_ them. Bluestreak couldn't look up when they were done, as they slipped away to one of the private rooms. He didn't even know who's... The pain was gone, and he felt like he had betrayed them, feeling them work off the lust he had created and not sated. Stumbling a little as he stood, Bluestreak went to find First Aid. The gestalted medic would understand and have advice.

A couple hours later, feeling, in general, happier about life, the Stunticons left their rooms, braving the Ark in search for Bluestreak. On the way, they came to the rec-room, Breakdown flat off hiding behind Drag Strip and Dead End. Wildrider, practically bouncing on his toes, was more or less circling, looking around and enjoying the stability that came from having most of his brothers near him and the bonds so recently reaffirmed. He was the one to first see the human, sitting on a small yellow mech's shoulder.

"Hey! It's a native!" Calling out cheerfully, Wildrider picked the human up, using more care than it seemed. He had heard they were fragile, and even he knew that the Autobots didn't hurt humans.

"H-hey! Put me down!" the human yelled, striking futilely at the large black hand around him. Spike knew about the Stunticon's defection, of course, but that didn't mean he wanted to be at the mercy of one!

"Give Spike back!" Bumblebee yelled, grabbing towards Spike. Wildrider reacted instinctively, cupping his hands and pulling them closer to his body, and then Dead End was pushing him towards the middle of the other three, taking the place Breakdown had occupied, as the Autobots turned their guns towards the Stunticons. At least there wasn't any shooting, Wildrider thought miserably.

"Please lower your weaponry," Dead End asked, preparing for a fight and hoping Bluestreak wouldn't be too angry.

"Give Spike back!" Bumblebee repeated, looking towards Wildrider's hands. Spike was still yelling, muffled now.

"What's going on?" The Autobots parted as Bluestreak approached the Stunticons, and the former Decepticons looked at him fearfully. "Wildrider, give him to me." Bluestreak waited until the black mech obeyed, then began babbling as he carefully handed Spike to Bumblebee. "Spike, are you okay, only he didn't mean to hurt you, he was actually trying to be careful, I'm sorry, I should have warned them not to do that..."

~You can't just pick them up without permission. You have to ask!~ Scolding them silently, Bluestreak tried not to notice how the Stunticons flinched away from him. It really was his fault, he had so much to tell them, and he'd just forgotten that they didn't know how to behave around humans!

"What happened?" Prowl was asking this time. Fighting back nervousness, Bluestreak faced the black and white mech, ready to explain. Spike beat him to it.

"It seems to be just a misunderstanding, Prowl. I'm not hurt, I was just surprised."

"It won't happen again, Prowl, everyone's just jumpy, and they were just coming to look for me, but next time we socialize I'll be right there so this won't happen again," Bluestreak added, looking at Prowl earnestly. The tactician finally nodded, and Bluestreak herded the others all the way back to their quarters, only slowly relaxing. Things could have gone so wrong!

"Wildrider really was being careful. We know how important humans are to, um, Autobots..." Drag Strip was hoping to buy Wildrider a little leniency, at least.

Bluestreak looked at Drag Strip blankly for a moment. "I know that. Like I said, it was my fault- I'm not angry! I was just... I could feel how _frightened_ you all were and I couldn't tell why..." Primus, he wasn't going to hit them!

"We couldn't find you..." Wildrider sounded almost lost, and Bluestreak was embracing the mech a spark-beat after the words, cycling his vents.

"I was just in med-bay. I needed to talk to First Aid... I didn't mean to take so long." Bluestreak squeaked a little as the other Stunticons pressed against him, shivering a little. They didn't know how to handle him, how to react when he didn't get angry... Bluestreak could read their expectations with painful ease and precision. They had opened the bonds in what had to be an unconscious reaction, trying to convince him that they were sorry, that they would do whatever he said... If Motormaster hadn't already been offline, Bluestreak thought he would have hunted the black and grey mech down himself.

"How are we supposed to handle the native species?" Dead End asked, always the calmest of them all. They were so desperate...

"You- you need to remember that they're people. Um... Wildrider was doing good to be careful, but... you need to ask before picking them up, and you can't touch them if they don't want you to. Ah, unless you're touching them to save their life, that's different." They all gave a stuttered gasp as Bluestreak remembered to praise what Wildrider had done right. First Aid was right... he just needed to give them a chance, and not do anything unless he was comfortable with it.

Bluestreak took the Stunticons out the next day, figuring that they and the Ark crew both needed to get used to each other. They spent the day almost completely alone, only Prowl and Wheeljack coming over and saying hello. The Stunticons didn't seem to mind this too badly, though Bluestreak couldn't help but feel bad for them.

The second day went much better, the Protectobots making a concerted effort to befriend the Stunticons, aside from Blades, who spent his time staring at Breakdown. That night, unsurprisingly, was spent calming the white and blue Lamborghini. Even though he left most of work to the others, Bluestreak was exhausted when he went to his own recharge. They were so damaged, and it hurt him so badly to see it.

Drag Strip woke early the next morning, and slipped from the gestalt quarters quietly, heading to the rec room. He had the vague idea of bringing energon back for everyone, but got distracted when Sideswipe came up to talk.

"Hey! Ah... You're Drag Strip, right? I'm Sideswipe, I heard that, um, one of you brothers is looking for high quality wax?"

"...Yes. Dead... End would like some..." Drag Strip was slow to admit it, sure that the red mech wanted something in return. He took the wax fast enough when Sideswipe brought some out and practically forced it into Drag Strip's hands, though.

"Hey, you like competition too, don't you? I have an idea..." Drag Strip perked up at the suggestion of something to win, and Sideswipe smiled. "I'll teach you how to prank, and then we can find out who's best at it. How's that sound... Drag'?"

Drag Strip accepted the rubber sacks Sideswipe pulled from subspace. "What do I do with these?"

"They're filled with paint. First winner is the one to hit the best targets. And I'll give you some free advice, Drag'. Don't hit my bro. He won't take kindly to it." Smirking, Sideswipe waited for Drag Strip's nod before slipping out of the rec room.

He would go back to their room, Drag Strip decided. Use the balloons on the way, and get the energon with his brothers. He smiled a little as he considered what would come after that. Bluestreak was so sweet, even if he couldn't bear to let them show him pleasure yet. It was better than finding pleasure in their pain, and more would come in time.

Having no real clue who counted as a 'good' target, the yellow mech thew at the first mech he saw. Ironhide dodged, and sparkly pink paint covered Optimus Prime's office. Drag Strip had approximately enough time to think 'Oh slag' before Ironhide tackled him.

Bluestreak, with the rest of his gestalt, was just leaving their quarters to get fuel. Drag Strip's panic changed that, so they were already changing direction when Prowl contacted Bluestreak. "It's okay, Drag Strip's fine, Prowl says it was just a prank," Bluestreak soothed, and sighed as the fear dissapated slightly. A couple clicks later, they were there.

"Sideswipe got to him. We caught him before he did anything, but we didn't expect Drag Strip to agree to anything. As you can see, no major harm was done." Prowl explained things quickly, and Wildrider started to cackle at the sight of Prime's office.

"I meant to hit him..." Drag Strip said mournfully, motioning at Ironhide with his chin. His arms were bound behind him by cuffs.

"I don't think that really helps," Bluestreak muttered, holding back his own laughter. ~You need to learn subtlety...~ Poor Drag Strip... Bluestreak couldn't feel angry with him. He had pulled quite enough pranks himself!

"The standard 24 hours in the brig, and you have to clean this up. I am sure you know the drill, Bluestreak," Prowl said. Bluestreak just nodded and started to hunt down a mop as Drag Strip was led away. Drag Strip didn't think he would ever forget the sight of his gestalt leader patiently preparing to clean up a mess he had made.

The brig wasn't bad. Drag Strip had known it wouldn't be. Around midday he could feel the others renewing their bonds. They didn't want Bluestreak to hurt like he had last time. Drag Strip agreed fully, and it was his own fault he wasn't there.

One good thing did happen in the brig. Sideswipe was there, and he told Drag Strip that he had won that round. The red Lamborghini found it hilarious that he had hit Optimus' office. That, and the lack of recrimination from his brothers, had the yellow mech feeling pretty good when he was released the next morning. Despite the gestalt bond, he was surprised to find Bluestreak waiting for him.

"You... weren't here last night, and I'm not hurting, but I don't know if you will, and- And I'm not angry at you at all, I actually thought it was funny, everyone did, really, but, you know, there are rules, and so that's why I let them, but I wanted you to know and anyway..." Drag Strip could only feel nervousness and determination from Bluestreak as the gestalt leader almost forced himself to speak.

"I know. I can feel that. That doesn't change the fact I made things hard on you. I'm sorry, I won't... I'll not talk to him ag-"

"Drag Strip. No," Bluestreak interrupted. Motioning for the yellow mech to follow, he lead the way to his room, ignoring Drag Strip's fear. "He's my friend too. Go right ahead and make friends with him. Play pranks. I don't mind, and it makes others happy. Please... try not to be afraid of me..." He turned, and Drag Strip was not sure what to do as he was pulled into a kiss. Hands went for his wheels, and Drag Strip couldn't stop himself from reaching for Bluestreak's doorwings.

Bluestreak's hands were unsure as the two mechs tumbled to the berth. He could not make himself forget that Drag Strip had been a Decepticon, with all that meant, but he could focus on the needy, damaged, painfully afraid mech that Drag Strip _was_. In causing that mech pleasure, in allowing that mech to give pleasure, Bluestreak could put aside fear and hate and find friendship and pleasure, if not yet love. It would come, he was sure.

Drag Strip was lost in the joy of pleasure with no pain, no demands. The doorwings fascinated him, and made Bluestreak feel so good, make such interesting noises. They were both too unsure to let the interface go for long, chests opening after only a moment or two. The merge was even faster, but the overload sated them, and Drag Strip was able to lay in his leader's arms afterwards. Bluestreak cooed a little, stroking him softly. Thanks were not needed, gratitude felt over the renewed bond.

After a while, the other Stunticons found their way into the room, wordlessly welcomed by Bluestreak. They squirmed their way onto the berth, and Bluestreak gave a shudder before moving to better cuddle with his brothers. It was... good, to spend time like this.

Bluestreak thought nothing of it when he woke up a week later and the other Stunticons were nowhere around. They were gaining confidence, making friends. Breakdown seemed to enjoy Prowl's company, while Wildrider found Wheeljack's propensity for explosions to be hilarious. Drag Strip was still hesitant about his friendship with Sideswipe, and Mirage was quite happy to talk about Cybertron and teach Dead End about the old art. Bluestreak toot the time to fuel and wash, and the day was half over before Prowl came up to him.

"Where is your team?" It was the urgency that caught Bluestreak, and he looked at Prowl curiously while using the gestalt bond.

~Hey, where are your? Prowl's asking about you.~ Bluestreak could feel their pleasure at something, excitement, a drive to win... None of it was really that much out of the ordinary.

~Um, not really sure. I think we just left a town...~ Wildrider was distracted by whatever they were doing.

~We are racing. I told them we should have waited for you,~ Dead End added, and Bluestreak ignored the graphic musing on how he would offline soon. It was common for Dead End to feel that way, after all...

"They're racing somewhere, I'm not sure where, they don't know where, they just left a town but I don't know, Prowl, what's wrong?" Bluestreak did not like the expression on Prowl's face, and unconsciously pressed the other Stunticons for more information.

Menasor woke.

There was no shooting. No pain... There were explosions, his bodies, for the most part, gleefully playing on the road, dodging the other cars, or going right through them. His components treated themselves the same way... all but the new one? It said he should stop? Autobots...? Menasor was unsure, and the gestalt merge fell apart, leaving the components stunned and shivering wherever they happened to be or to stop.

"Primus..." Bluestreak whispered, looking at Prowl, who was kneeling and holding him up. "Primus, please, they didn't know, please don't be angry this time, I'll teach them, they won't ever do this again, Prowl, I promise, I just need to make them understand, I swear, please-"

"Bluestreak," Prowl interrupted sternly. "Calm yourself. You are the leader, appropriate punishments are up to you. Just tell Prime and myself what you plan this time. They... were the ones behind the reports of destructive racing vehicles, correct?"

Still shivering a little form the unexpected processor sharing, Bluestreak nodded, letting Prowl help him stand. "They didn't mean to hurt anyone... They just don't understand...."

Prowl made soothing noises, accustomed to calming Bluestreak down, even if the reason was new, slowly coaxing the grey mech to his office and contacting Optimus. The three of them were waiting when the four Stunticons walked in, a curious mix of nervous and defiant.

"At least tell us what we did wrong," Breakdown said, pleading almost inaudible in his tone. He had, unexpectedly, taken the role of 'ambassador' to the other Autobots on his brothers' behalf when Bluestreak wasn't around. Or, like this, when Bluestreak seemed to be against them.

Bluestreak gave Optimus a look before going over and more or less forcing Breakdown into a hug. "It's okay. We're not going to the brig, you won't be hurt. I told them what Menasor showed me, and they understand, they'll take care of things, but there are some things we have to do, the five of us. Right now let's go get some energon, and then I want to hear you say what you were doing." Bewildered, the Stunticons followed their leader out of the room.

All five of them were silent while they gathered energon, the entire way back to their room. Bluestreak could feel the silent tension curling in them, and they stood frozen when the door closed. "Dead End," Bluestreak said, and the red Porsche flinched before stepping forward. "Please explain to me what you were doing." Words weren't needed, but Bluestreak was more comfortable with them, and so Dead End spoke.

"We were racing. We weren't hurting anyone, just racing and ramming each other. We had our forcefields up, even, so we wouldn't hurt each other!" Even through his apathy, Bluestreak could hear desperation in Dead End's voice. Every one of the formerly Decepticon Stunticons fully expected Bluestreak to beat them, though they fervently believed that he was better than Motormaster. Bluestreak groaned a little.

"We have a race track here. Drag Strip, I thought Sideswipe had told you?" Bluestreak sighed, shaking his head a little. "Drink you energon, and then we need to take a drive. ...Please. Try to relax. I don't intend to hurt you at all."

"It wouldn't be so bad if you did, at least then it would be over with..." Wildrider muttered, looking at the ground and awkwardly drinking.

Bluestreak was silent a moment, and then he shook his head again. "No. No, and I want you to listen to me." There was a moment of confusion, and then he opened himself through the bond as much as he could, speaking over it and aloud. "~I swear now, on my spark and before Primus Himself, I will never hit any of you in punishment.~" Bluestreak looked at each of the former Decepticons in turn, and they shivered and broke, surrounding him and pressing against him with soft mewls. They accepted his oath, though there was a lot of confusion over what he _would_ do.

"Come on... drink up..." Bluestreak broke the near-silence gently, stroking those near him while following his own suggestion. The others did so slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort. Eventually they were all finished, and Bluestreak led them out to the highway.

They drove in silence, Bluestreak turning occasionally, obviously aware of where they were going. A couple hours later, turning down another street abruptly brought the Stunticons into a scene of devastation.

~Wow. What happened here? It looks like one of those disaster movies!~ Drag Strip muttered, angling his path to be slightly closer to Wildrider.

~You ought to recognize the location,~ Bluestreak answered, mental tone carefully neutral. He felt his team shiver, still used to bad things happening when their leader was angry. There was nothing he could do about that at the moment.

Wildrider got it first, his uncertain logic making a leap that was foreign to the gestalt. ~But... We didn't hit anything! We were being careful!~

~The other cars on the road didn't have the time or the skill to get safely out of the way,~ Bluestreak answered sadly. Driving up to one of the relief crews, he transformed. "We're here to help clean this up. I'm sorry for my team's behavior. You have my word that it will never happen again."

It was a quiet team that Bluestreak lead home that night. They huddled closely to him, even on the road, and he silently opened himself to them, giving whatever comfort they needed. He wasn't angry with them... Especially not now, not seeing them.

It was neither haughtiness nor fear that drove the gestalt to avoid the rec room and go straight to their own quarters. It was need, the need to be together. They never even thought of going into individual rooms, and Bluestreak found he didn't want to. He wanted to be here, with his team, with his... brothers, as comforting touches turned seductive, as worried whimpers faded into kissing and pleased moans and soft little cries. Watching Drag Strip and Breakdown merge right next to him was almost unbelievably erotic, and the sense of understanding that Dead End radiated when Bluestreak turned to him for help with the need was freeing. Bluestreak still couldn't say that he loved them, but... they were his, his family, his gestalt. And he was theirs.

The next couple of days were like that. The Stunticons helped to clean up their mess, even growing the least bit friendly with the other workers, who appreciated the former Decepticons repentance. In the evenings, they would stay in the rec room long enough to get energon, but it was apparent to all that they were gestalted, with all the changes that meant. Then came the day that Bluestreak lead his team down a different road, to a quiet meadow with carved stones laid out. He told them to be quiet, pushing that it was important, and they obeyed.

After maybe an hour, the quite was broken by the solemn tolling of a near-by bell. A little while after that, a line of black cars pulled up, and Bluestreak could feel a bubble of glee from Wildrider at the sight of so many like-colored vehicles. The glee burst a moment later as black-clad humans left the vehicles, and Bluestreak wasn't surprised that Wildrider was, again, the first to get it.

~A funeral? ...We caused it...? W- when they tried to get out of our way...?~ At Bluestreak's silent affirmative, Dead End took up the reasoning.

~Damaging what they are in can... Can kill them?~ Bluestreak found himself wishing he could hold them when he answered.

~And worse. They're not like us, they can't replace parts. Your race caused five deaths, three people are in stasis and can't be brought out, six have lost the use of one or more limbs for the rest of their lives, and twelve are still repairing their injuries.~ Bluestreak used Cybertronain terms, wanting to make sure that his team understood what he was saying.

~Oh.~

Bluestreak knew they still weren't sure why it mattered. It was just humans, they were fun to be around but ultimately inferior. Bluestreak didn't try to explain how wrong that was... It was enough that they would be careful, that they were willing to give humans a chance. He wasn't try to erase their perspectives, he liked the differences they brought to the bond. Change, beyond the minimum, would take time. They did see the humans as people now... that was enough.

\---

"Bluestreak, are you certain?" Prowl asked. Bluestreak gave a little bit of a sigh, he really did appreciate Prowl's caution, but...

"They are loyal to me. They may not understand our ideals, but they are trying, and they will do what I ask of them. They like- we are beginning to love each other, I think. And they want to help!" Bluestreak answered.

"But sending them into battle with mechs they lived with, knew... Bluestreak, that is a lot to ask of them." Prowl appreciated that Bluestreak was slowly becoming happier with what he had chosen, comfortable and content with it. But asking to lead the fragile team into battle... and yet Prowl could not ignore help they could give. Or the trouble they could cause...

"Mechs they hated, who knew what they suffered and ignored it! Prowl, they chose me, an enemy, an unknown, over any of those mechs they knew!"

Prowl didn't answer right away, looking at Bluestreak. Really looking at him... He was maturing, Prowl realized. Right now his doors were flared, and he stood straight, lacking the slight hunch Bluestreak had so often shown... He was willing to fight for his team, his bonded gestalt team, even in the face of his own commander's doubt. Making a decision that was not entirely logic-bound, Prowl nodded. "I will put your team on active rotation." They might not be deployed in the next battle, but it would happen eventually, and in all likelihood, soon.

"Thank you, Prowl! We won't let you down, I'll make sure of it!" Smiling happily, Bluestreak left the office to go tell his mechs. He felt like seeing their expressions, even if they already could guess it was good news.

It was maybe a month later that the untested gestalt team actually saw combat. It was the usual chaos, but Prowl thought Bluestreak was actually handling it pretty well. He was still acting as a sniper, able to see the battle and relay orders to his team instantly. It was going well. Until everything went wrong.

Dead End was teaming up with Drag Strip, shooting at Seekers and trying to get them low enough for his yellow brother to attack them. Drag Strip had heard about 'Jet Judo', and had bragged that he would be better than either of the Twins, and Dead End just enjoyed harrying them. The red mech misjudged a shot, Dirge didn't do what was expected, and the end result was that the cone-head came down, wing on fire, practically on top of Bluestreak, who had been hiding in a forest.

The Stunticons looked towards the fire, mirrored expressions of terror on their faces, just before the screaming started.

It didn't actually take long for Inferno to put the beginning fire out, or for the Stunticons to stumble towards their leader, who was curled into a ball. None of them were quite sure what to do, and they looked at each other helplessly, none quite daring to touch. But when Prowl stepped forward to take charge, Drag Strip hissed at him, moving between his leader and the tactician. A moment later, Wildrider took the chance, reaching out and moving Bluestreak into his arms. The grey mech mewled, pulled away, and then stopped and threw himself at the black mech hard enough to knock them both to the ground. Breakdown and Dead End joined, and Drag Strip, after glaring one last time at Prowl, also joined the pile. With work to be done elsewhere, Prowl had no choice but to leave the gestalt to itself.

Bluestreak was not entirely sane at the moment, it appeared, and he was showing it by buffeting his team with just as many fears as they had ever shown, even as he caressed and mewled needily. The fire, and the Seeker falling from above, had trigged every memory he tried to hide, and the Stunticons were getting quite intimately aware of their leader's nightmares.

He had been trapped and alone and scared, and so young. No-one had preyed on his weakness, he had had no Motormaster to twist him further, but he had never really dealt with the trauma, never known how. None of the others knew how to deal with it either, but they accepted his fears, welcomed him, made no effort to shut him out or stop his sharing.

The physical pleasure and affirmation of their bonds was little more than a side effect. Bluestreak was able to rest after overload, to fall into recharge without fear, with mech that he, for the first time, truly regarded as his mates. He woke up just as close, Menasor a hovering presence on the edge of consciousness, with no sense of fear. Almost immediately, Bluestreak felt something on Dead End, small and soft, as though it was on his own chassis. It had to be the overmind's nearness...

Onlining optics slowly, pretty sure they were his own, Bluestreak saw it was a bird on his red and black brother. A pretty bird, but he wasn't sure what kind. Feeling the others beginning to wake, Bluestreak sent a quite order to hold still. He didn't want to startle the small avian. Mechs woke around him, and Wildrider went so far as to softly 'ask' if he could use Bluestreak's optics, wanting a better view of the creature. The quiet sharing lasted until the bird tired of its perch and fluttered away, at which point the five mechs carefully stood up, picking sticks and debris out of each other wordlessly.

Before they were ready to go, but after they were no longer ready to stay, First Aid showed up. Hot Spot came out of the singed forest a moment later, followed by the rest of the gestalt. Blades glanced at Breakdown, but a glare from Streetwise and a motion from Hot Spot made him look away again.

"Would Menasor like to meet Defensor?" Hot Spot asked. He was talking to Bluestreak, and to Bluestreak only, and what some mechs might have seen as insulting, the new gestalt leader knew was simply respectful.

"We've never deliberately merged... not without combining," Bluestreak answered. It would be... NICE to combine, he thought, to really join with his mates like they were meant to. He would have to ask Ratchet for some modifications. "I can't say how long it will last."

"We won't combine either, then. It would be a good thing to practice, no?"

Bluestreak nodded, still feeling the overmind right there, so close to him. There was still a thrill of fear as he tipped into, let Menasor take over, and he could feel his mates' fear as well. The merge lasted only a few moments, and left them disoriented and blinking, but Defensor was watching, components moving to support them. With a shiver, the Stunticons tried again, and again.

After a week, hunger was too much to ignore, and the rations the Protectobots had brought had run out. Bluestreak lead his team back to the Ark, half Menasor and only half himself. This was what the Aerialbots had spoken of, this closeness... never alone. Never alone, and though they hadn't said a thing, Bluestreak knew he was loved, because he loved them, and he felt the same emotion reflected from their processors.


End file.
